Entries to a Ghost
by ReiMori
Summary: Answer to a prompt made on Tumblr by mystradedoodles. John's therapist asks him to keep a journal of how he feels. It's a struggle at first but soon he pours his grief into each entry. Eventually, the grief turns into stories, fantasies. Cases that never were, moments that don't exist. All within the confines of a tiny hidden journal.


**Journal Entry #1**

I don't know why I'm doing this.

Ella told me it was a good idea to formulate my thoughts. My emotions. Everything I can't say.

It sounds like rubbish to me.

Because what's the point? You're not here.

You're gone.

You're gone, Sherlock. And you're not coming back. You never will.

So why am I doing this?

Because I'm an idiot.

And….

I need you.

God, I need you so much.

Please…come back.

* * *

**Journal Entry #2**

I made tea for you again.

I do it every day.

Every morning.

I wake up and I ask you if you want a cuppa.

I know you won't respond, but I do it anyway.

It's become a habit.

I hate you for it.

I hate you so much.

I can't do this.

* * *

**Journal Entry #3**

Sherlock.

Make it stop.

Every night.

Every damn night it happens again.

I see you.

I hear you.

You jump.

And every time you do, it replays. Over and over again.

My stomach drops and I feel my body go numb. It hurts. I feel it in my chest, Sherlock. The minute I see your body.

I know.

And it hurts.

I can physically feel the pain.

And I wake up.

Then I remember that it was all a dream.

Just a bad dream.

This is all just a terrible nightmare.

* * *

**Journal #4**

Ella knows I don't sleep. I haven't said a word, but she knows.

You'd know.

You always do.

No.

You don't.

You don't know.

Because you're dead.

You're bloody dead and you can't possibly understand that I-

You stupid, stupid, fucking bastard.

* * *

**Journal Entry #5**

I don't know what else to say.

I don't know what else to feel.

One moment I take out my Browning and just…sit there. I always plan on doing it. Figure it'd be better than all…this.

But then, I just want to wring your neck. Aim the gun at you instead of myself. Because you're a bastard. I hate you. You just, leave me here and expect me to handle all of this shit without your obnoxious prick self around.

And then it all just…changes.

I feel _numb._

Like right now.

I can't feel anything.

This is how you must feel right now.

Must be beautiful.

* * *

**Journal Entry #15**

I just lay in bed now.

And I think.

I think about all the cases we've been on.

I could easily go on my blog and re-read them but I just like…remembering.

The way your face lights up at the mention of an interesting case.

The way you tie your scarf around your neck and slip your coat on as you run out the door.

You love what you do. Anyone with half a brain can tell.

But…

That sparkle in your bottomless grey-blue eyes…

I like to think I am the only one who notices that.

I think I better hide this damn journal where no one can find it. People might talk if they ever read this.

* * *

**Journal Entry #32**

Your sarcastic comments never cease.

Whether it be about my choice of clothing or what brand of tea I've changed to, you always have something to say.

You're a real twat, you know that?

But you don't care.

You just deduce.

And state the facts.

And I follow, like a loyal dog.

Because you're brilliant.

* * *

**Journal Entry #55**

You got a new case today.

It was an odd one. But I knew you'd like it.

An elderly man came in and gave you a riddle.

You weren't the only one who thought he was off the rocker.

But you didn't tell him to leave.

You listened.

And you observed.

And you noticed.

You didn't tell me, but you figured it out.

Next thing I knew, we were running out the door and into a cab.

You repeated the riddle over and over again.

I tried to figure it out, but it seemed so undecipherable, I gave up.

But you knew.

You always do.

Because you're Sherlock.

_My Sherlock_.

* * *

**Journal Entry #68**

You were so anxious this morning.

No case.

No mystery.

Nothing to keep you active.

You asked me for cigarettes again, but like always, you knew I wouldn't give them to you.

You knew because you're here.

You can see me.

You can tell I won't give in.

Because I'm John.

_Your John_.

* * *

**Journal Entry #80**

I get calls every day. Morning, noon, and night.

From Lestrade.

Even from your brother.

They probably want to talk to you since you never answer your phone.

Though Harry calls too.

I have no idea why.

* * *

**Journal Entry #97**

Mrs. Hudson came up today to ask me if I'm all right.

I wonder why that is.

She usually worries about you. But she never asks you.

She probably sees you're busy with your experiments.

You don't even drink the tea I make for you.

You always leave it untouched.

But I always make it for you.

Because I know you like tea.

And I know you'll drink it one day.

When you're not busy.

* * *

**Journal Entry #101**

You drank the tea today.


End file.
